The Embarrassment of Riches Affair
by Mary Catherine Marshall
Summary: The Mothe Superior Tales continue ...


**Title: The "Embarrassment of Riches" Affair **

Author: Mary Catherine Marshall Man from UNCLE, mid-1960's

Series: Continuation of the 'Mother Superior Tales'

Rating: PG-13 (language)

Date: October 2006

Disclaimer: I play with the characters that are, apparently, owned by person or persons unknown. There's no profit motive … at least on my part!

"His eyes are blue."

"All babies are born with blue eyes," Charlie said, smiling at the look of pure ecstasy on the face of UNCLE New York's CEA. Napoleon sat transfixed, holding his six-week-old son. She grabbed a freshly washed diaper and folded it. "They may change over the next few months."

His communicator sounded. "Solo."

"Come to the hospital. Now."

"Illya? What's wrong?"

"Come to the hospital. Now." The connection went dead. Napoleon went white.

"He wants us as the hospital. Now," he said, handing the baby to Charlie and heading for the door.

"I'm coming with you! Ellen? Need a hand," Charlie called to their nanny, Ellen Vincent.

Ellen, a pleasantly plump middle-aged woman appeared like magic, taking the baby and waiving them out the door.

They were silent as they climbed into Napoleon's midnight blue Corvette. He pulled into traffic and gunned the engine.

Napoleon's gut churned. "What if something's happened?"

Charlie covered his hand with hers. "We'll deal with it when we get there."

"Do you pray, Charlie?"

"Constantly." She squeezed his hand. "I'm married to you."

Illya paced the hallway like a caged cat. Sweat stained his green surgical scrubs.

"Illya? What's happened?" Napoleon asked, his long legs bridging the gap to his partner's side.

"I do not know," Illya said, his voice tense, his face dead white.

"Have you been behaving badly? Charlie asked, wrapping her arm around Illya's waist. The icy glare answered her question. "Where?"

"Surgery 3."

"Let me check. I'll be back in a second." Charlie headed down the hall.

"Come on, IK, let's get some coffee," Napoleon said, taking Illya's arm and leading him to the waiting room. Illya paced.

"Sit," Napoleon ordered, pointing to a plastic covered couch, "before you fall down and we have another situation to deal with."

Illya collapsed on the couch and took the coffee Napoleon offered. "Okay, tovarisch, what happened?"

"Early this morning she awakened me. She was in great pain," he said, staring at the wall clock. "I insisted that we come to the hospital."

"Good move," Napoleon said, sitting next to his friend.

"Dr. Schumann said that everything was progressing nicely. I stayed with Em, coaching her through labor." Illya gulped the coffee and frowned. "The pain became worse and worse." Tears welled in his eyes.

"Illya, it'll be okay. I'm sure of it," Napoleon said, trying to convince both of them. "Charlie was in a lot of pain, too. It's just part of the process."

Illya closed his eyes. "Napoleon, I do not know …"

"Don't, Illya," Napoleon said, squeezing Illya's hand. "This isn't Katia. We've got the best of everything. Dr. Schumann and staff. Charlie. She'll tell us what's happening."

"Illya! Come with me and hurry!" Charlie said, her face flushed.

Illya raced down the hall on Charlie's heels. "Put this on," she said, pulling a surgical gown over his scrubs and tying it behind his back. "You'll need a cap and a mask."

Charlie replaced her own mask and pulled Illya into the surgical theater. "Sit with Em and don't move," she said.

Emerson grinned and Illya brushed her cheek. "This is going to cost you."

"I have no doubt," he said, taking a sharp breath as she crushed his hand.

"Sorry," she said. "I don't want to break your hand. You'll need it to change diapers."

"Diapers?"

"Everything's fine," Charlie said, smiling at Illya's grimace and waiving him to her side. "Push, Em!" Emerson pushed, her face red with exertion.

Illya watched as the baby's head crowned and Dr. Schumann gently guided it out. "Rest for a second, Emerson. The shoulder is next."

Emerson grinned at Illya. "And I thought Survival School was tough! Give me Jules Cutter any day."

"Shoulder," Dr. Schumann said, and caught the slippery baby. She smiled, suctioned its mouth and nose and clamped the cord. A sharp wale filled the room.

"Illya, would you do the honors?" she asked handing him a pair of surgical scissors and nodding to the umbilical cord. "Remember, it's thick and tough, don't be afraid of it."

Charlie chuckled thinking how silly it was for this ruthless, cold-blooded agent to fear cutting an umbilical cord. Illya paled, but clipped the thick cord. Charlie wrapped the baby in a towel and handed it to him.

"Congratulations, Papa. It's a girl!"

Illya took the baby in shaking hands. "A daughter, Em," he said, his voice filled with wonder. "A daughter!" He carried the baby to Emerson.

"Tatianna," Emerson said, grinning at her obviously smitten husband. "Tatianna Illyanova."

Dr. Schumann glanced up. "Baby B is being a little obstinate. Right now, it's in the breach position and I'd rather not do a C-section if we can avoid it. I'm willing to wait since everything is stable at the moment. Maybe it will change direction now that there's more room. If not, I'll have to do a Caesarian." She caught the look of panic on Illya's face. "That's why we moved to this room."

"A Caesarian?" Illya asked, his eyes darted to Emerson and back to Dr. Schumann.

"We'll pass a little gas to Emerson, deliver the baby, and everything will be fine."

Emerson smiled at him. "We'll be fine."

"May I stay?" he asked, casting a look of pure fear to Emerson.

Dr. Schumann looked at Charlie who nodded and hung a surgical drape. "You stay on that side of the drape," Charlie said, "and I'll give you a blow-by-blow description."

Illya did not look convinced.

"Have I ever lied to you, Blue-eyes?" Charlie asked.

Illya smiled, weak and wan, but a smile. "No. At least not when it was important."

"Trust me, Illyusha. This is important."

The doors of the surgery suite swished opened and Napoleon turned. He grinned.

His partner walked toward him. The cool, calculating, deadly Ice Prince as he had never before seen him. In each arm, he held a blanket wrapped bundle.

"Napoleon," Illya said, tears shining in his eyes, "permit me to introduce Tatianna Illyanova Cates Kuryakin and Nicholas Illyich Solo Kuryakin."

"Solo?" Napoleon asked, taking the blue bundle. "You named your kid after me?"

"You named Antony after me," Illya said, smiling at his friend. "He will come to despise you, you know. 'Antony Kuryakin Solo.' Such a name for an infant!"

Napoleon smiled at the tiny face scowling back at him. Tufts of blond hair danced on the tiny head. "Looks like you, IK," Napoleon said, grinning at the baby. "He's got your scowl."

Illya grinned. "Emerson wanted to name our daughter "Solo," but I thought not."

Napoleon gently pulled away the pink blanket and smiled at the equally pink but placid face of the sleeping infant. "She's beautiful!" he whispered. His fingers brushed the dusting of blonde hair and traced the curve of her cheek.

"Da. Very beautiful," Illya said, kissing the baby's head. "Of course, you have always been fond of blondes."

"I take it everything's fine?" Napoleon asked, following Illya down the hall.

"Everything is fine. Em's asking for you," Illya said, smiling at his daughter. "She has a request."

Napoleon smiled at the slight, blond Russian. "Anything. Anything she wants."

"Come in, Napasha, I'm holding court," Emerson said, propped up in her bed. "They're giving me the most delightful cocktails through my IV."

Napoleon kissed her. "You okay?" he asked, winking at Charlie.

"I'm grateful that Nicholas changed direction. I wasn't looking forward to surgery on top of everything else," Emerson said, brushing her fingers through her short hair. "I'm thinking that that kid's going to be trouble!"

Charlie laughed. "Tia, Nick, and Antony. A real triple threat!"

"The next generation of UNCLE Section 2," Alexander Waverly said, smiling at the sight of his two top agents and their new families.

Emerson frowned. "Keep your hands off my kids!" she said, shaking her head.

"Mine, too," Charlie agreed.

Waverly walked to Emerson's bedside. "May I?" he asked, reaching for Tia. He expertly held the baby, brushing his gnarled finger along her perfect cheek. "She is a beautiful baby, as were you, Emie," he said. Tiny fingers wrapped around his.

He returned the baby to Emerson and leaned down to see Nick. "Ah, Mr. Kuryakin," the Old Man said, smiling at the baby, "he has your scowl."

Illya rolled his eyes. "Yes, sir." Waverly smiled.

"I have made arrangements for the three of you to move to UNCLE medical as soon as Dr. Schumann gives her permission. I would be much more comfortable following the same procedure we used for Dr. Charles. Having you in-house provides much better security," Waverly said, taking a chair near the bed. "Perhaps this evening. Until then guards are posted at the hospital entrance, at the elevators, stairwells on this floor, and at your door."

"Thanks, Uncle Alex," Emerson said, reaching for his hand. "Where's Auntie?"

"On her way to see you, my dear," he said, taking Nicholas in his arms. "There was something she wanted to pick-up before she came. She should be here soon, I would think."

As if on cue, the door opened and Lina Waverly swept in carrying two large shopping bags. "Emie! You look wonderful!"

"Thanks, Auntie. I expect to crash shortly," Emerson said, receiving her embrace and kisses.

"I've brought a couple of things that might be helpful," she said, depositing the shopping bags on the bed. "Some blue things and some pink things and even a few practical things."

Emerson and Charlie unloaded the bags. Sleepers, tiny socks, little caps, hand knitted blankets and sweaters appeared. "Oh, Lina, these are beautiful," Emerson said, holding the tiny sweater up to Tia who showed absolutely no interest. "She has her father's fashion sense."

Illya grinned. "Do you know, Napoleon, that they do not fabricate clothing for infants in black?"

"Imagine," Napoleon said, grinning at his partner vowing to find tiny black turtleneck sweaters someplace.

The Waverly's departed and Sindy retrieved the twins leaving the four friends alone.

"Uh, Illya, you said Em had a request?" Napoleon asked, holding Charlie's hand.

"Yes. Em, your request please," Illya said, shifting onto the bed and slipping his arm around her.

"We want the two of you to be Godparents."

"Godparents? Doesn't that require some sort of training?" Napoleon asked, rolling his eyes.

"Em, are you sure you want to entrust the religious upbringing of your kids to the likes of him?" Charlie asked, poking Napoleon in the ribs. "I mean, really!"

Illya frowned. "I'm sorry for the confusion. We want you to be guardians … and Godparents, too."

"Guardians," Napoleon glanced at Charlie. "Now it's my turn to ask if you're sure."

Illya and Emerson smiled. "Who else would we choose, Napasha?" Emerson asked. "We would never trust anybody else with them."

Illya chuckled. "Not that anyone else would take them."

Emerson slugged his arm. "That's it, Kuryakin! 3 a.m. feedings until hell freezes!" She smiled at Napoleon and Charlie. "I'll have the attorney draw up the papers. Of course, you realize that these two come with their own trust funds. I wouldn't drop my kids on you without a little cash."

"That's very thoughtful," Napoleon said with a laugh. "I'm guessing that Tia will be very high maintenance, like her mother."

"High maintenance out of your mouth, Mr. Italian Loafers and Seville Row Suits!" Charlie laughed.

Emerson yawned. "Sorry," she chuckled. "It's been a busy day."

"Tell you what. The Missus and I will head home to our little bundle of joy and see you tomorrow," Napoleon said, noting the dark smudges beneath Illya's eyes. "Get some rest. Both of you."

Nurse Carrie Charton delivered another 'cocktail' for Emerson and nudged Illya off the bed. "Mr. Kuryakin, I've ordered a bed for you as well."

"Thank you, Nurse Charton," he said, stretching and yawning.

"Should you need anything, Mrs. Kuryakin …"

"I'll call. Goodnight, Carrie." Emerson smiled at Illya and rolled carefully on her side.

"Room for me, malen'kaya mat'? " (little mother)

"Always," she said, as he spooned behind her.

"Moj vozl'ublennyj. Navsegda." (My beloved. Forever.)

"Navsegda, Nikala. Navsegda." (Forever, Nikala. Forever.)

Dimitri Kuryakin faced his brother, surprised at the fury and anger that seemed to glow around his compact frame.

"I am in America, yes? I have the right to make decisions! I decide to apply to Survival School!" Dimitri said, standing his ground.

"Dimitri," Illya said, struggling to keep his voice level and calm, "you are being irresponsible. Assignment to Section 2 will place you and your family in grave danger." He paused. "You and I know what it is to be orphaned. You do not want that for Anya and Natasha."

Dimitri laughed, shaking his head. "I am being irresponsible? You are Section 2, yes? You are field agent. Waverly gives you assignments and you go. You go and leave Emerson with two little babies! Now, who is irresponsible? Eh?"

"Should I be killed my children will not be orphaned. They will not be forced to return to the Soviet and raised as we were, Dima!" Illya paced. "You do not want your children to live as we did."

The younger man slumped in his chair, his thin, fine fingers running through his long brown hair. "I want … I need … to help people, Illyusha. The lab is good, but there are many people at home who will not ever have this." He looked at Illya, his eyes beseeching understanding. "I want to help. I want freedom for other fathers. For other babies, too."

Illya stopped pacing and stood inches from his brother. "I will speak to Mr. Waverly. I will oppose your request for Survival School." His voice was cold and hard.

"I love my babies, Illyusha. Just as you love Tia and Nicky. I will never do anything to harm them."

"Forgive me, Dima. If you insist on this assignment then we must protect them."

"You will keep them for me, yes?"

The blond sighed. "We will draw up papers, legal papers," he said, running his fingers through his hair. "You will have to sign them, giving legal custody of the girls to us."

"I give my babies to you and Em, yes? You will be their Mama and Papa?"

"No, Dima. We will be their guardians, but you will always be Papa."

Dimitri stood up, facing his brother. "I will always be Father," he said, resting his hand on Illya's shoulder. "Emerson is Mama. You are Papa. Yes!"

"Dima," Illya said, feeling very tired and very old, "I do not want to lose you again."

The younger man pulled Illya into a bear hug. "You help me and my babies. You bring us to freedom. Let me do this, too." Dima kissed Illya's tear stained cheek. "Please, Illyusha."

Illya grimaced. The manacles cut deeply into his wrists and he was desperate to gain some relief. Taking a deep breath and ignoring the burning pain in his ribs, he grabbed the chain hoping to relieve the pressure.

"Why do you suppose, Napoleon," he said, trying to ignore the bright flashes that danced in his eyes, "that I am always the one dangling from a pipe while you are always the one hand-cuffed and seated on the cot?"

"THRUSH has taken an interest in your height issues?" Napoleon said, trying to work the lock pick from his French cuff.

"Ah, that biting Solo wit," Illya said, groaning as he swung his feet around the pipe and hauled himself up. "Could you possibly move a little more quickly, please?"

"Shhh! I'm concentrating," Napoleon said, wriggling the thin bit of wire in the lock. "There!" He stretched his arms and began working on the second lock. "Be with you in a moment."

"Soon, one hopes," Illya said, shimmying his way across the pipe to a gap near the wall. "Never mind." He dropped with a thud.

Napoleon frowned and helped his partner to his feet. "You look hell, tovarisch."

Illya, once again, had borne the brunt of interrogation. His face was bruised and dried blood from a cut over his left eye caked in the creases. Blood oozed from both wrists and his tattered shirt barely hid slash wounds that covered his ribs and back. He favored his left ankle.

Napoleon shook his head. "You've got to learn to keep your big mouth shut, IK. _Your _biting wit brings out the worst in people!"

Illya sank to the cot, running his hands through his dirty, blond hair. Shaking and pale, his breathing was uneven and guarded.

"You okay?" Napoleon asked, removing his suit coat and draping it around his partner.

"I am fine," Illya said, offering a less than impressive glare.

"You're sweating," Napoleon said, brushing the battered forehead, "and you're hot." He walked to the door of the cell. "Let me see what I can do to get us out of here."

"Napoleon, I am concerned," Illya rasped. "They did a poor job of searching you, leaving behind most of your 'toys'. " The slight blond leaned gingerly against the wall. "Trap?"

"Why trap us when they've already got us?" the older agent asked, pressing a small explosive device into the lock. "Sloppy work by the guards. Anyway, why look a gift horse in the mouth?"

Illya moaned. "I have never understood why one would be interested in the dental status of a horse offered as a legacy."

"It's an expression," Napoleon said, shielding his partner from the brilliant flash. The door creaked open. "Shall we?"

"After you," Illya said, making no move toward the door.

Napoleon slipped his arm under Illya's and lifted him up. "Gotta leave with him what brung ya', tovarisch. Lean on me." Illya froze and a fresh layer of sweat covered his ashen skin. "I have no choice."

Napoleon pushed open the cell door leaning Illya in a corner. The senior agent expertly and quietly took down a guard. "Stay put," he said, dragging the guard into their cell and quickly dressing in the THRUSH uniform. "I really like the beret."

Illya offered a tired smile. "Brings out your eyes."

Napoleon grabbed his partner and slowly pushed him down the hall. Around the next corner, they met two guards.

"Where are you taking him?" the larger of the two demanded.

"Interrogation," Napoleon snapped. "They're not done with the little Commie yet."

The smaller of the guards poked the barrel of his gun into Illya's ribs and laughed. "Don't look to me like he's gonna last too long. Skinny little bastard."

"Not my problem," Napoleon said, shoving Illya between the guards. "You'd better check that hall way. I got called off patrol to bring this one in."

The guards nodded and headed away from the two agents. "Well done, Napoleon … and stop pushing me!"

"Got to look convincing," Napoleon said, moving along side the Russian. "Should be some sort of wheels near the loading dock."

At the dock, Napoleon scouted the area and then lifted Illya carefully into a crate filled with packing materials and nailed the lid closed.

"Hey, give me a hand!" he shouted to two guards. "The boss wants this delivered to the lab building, pronto!"

They grumbled, but helped shove the crate onto a flat bed truck. "Don't weigh much. What's in there?" the younger guard said, leaning against the crate.

Napoleon shrugged. "Some real delicate piece of equipment," he grinned. "My ass'll be in a sling if it gets busted or something. Thanks for the help."

Napoleon jumped into the truck and hotwired the ignition. As they reached the main gates, a guard stepped out and stopped the truck.

"What's in the crate?" he asked, frowning at Napoleon who offered a clipboard filled with crumpled bills of lading.

Napoleon shrugged, fishing a convenient cigarette from the uniform pocket. "Got a light?" The guard handed over a lighter and continued to look through the bills of lading. He glanced at Napoleon. "What's in the crate?" he asked again.

"All's I know is that some dumb sonofabitch delivered it to the wrong building and the boss wants it in the lab _now_. You hold me up and it'll be your ass, not mine." Napoleon flicked an ash out the window.

"Open it."

"Like hell I will!" Napoleon said, reaching for the THRUSH pistol he had liberated from the cell guard. He glanced through the rear window. "You want to screw with it go ahead. I ain't touchin' it." He relaxed against the seat.

The guard looked uncertain. He was used to crates coming in, not going out, but if this was something for the lab, he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"You gonna make up your mind sometime soon?" Napoleon asked, gunning the engine. "The boss is waiting for this and you know how he is."

The guard frowned even deeper. "All right. Get the lead out. I don't want my ass chewed for this one."

The gate swung open just as the klaxon sounded. Napoleon floored the gas pedal and squealed onto the rock road. _Hang tight, IK_, he thought as the crate slid across the truck bed and bounced against the wooden sides. Machine gun bullets pinged off the truck as he made for the cover of trees.

Half an hour later, he pulled into a dirt road and jumped from the cab. Grabbing a tire iron, he popped the lid. Illya was still.

"Illya!" he shouted. Blood seeped down the Russian's face and pooled in the hollow of his collarbone. Trembling fingers sought a carotid pulse on the cool, sweaty neck.

"Jesus, Illya! Look at me!"

Illya moaned as Napoleon lifted him from the crate. Bright red blood soaked through his left pants leg. Napoleon laid him on the truck bed and then moved him to a small stand of trees. Tearing the fabric near the bullet hole, he exposed the wound that steadily pumped. Napoleon ripped the sleeve from his THRUSH jumpsuit and tied it tightly around the wound, grateful as the blood flow lessened.

"Come on, IK," he said, lightly slapping the ashen face. "Come on. Wake up and yell at me." Napoleon's fingers brushed through Illya's hair checking the scalp wound that didn't look too bad.

"Stop hitting me," the blond mumbled.

"Good. You keep talking and I'll stop hitting," Napoleon said, carrying his partner to the truck. "We've got to get moving before our hosts find us."

Illya shifted on the bench seat, his head dropping into Napoleon's lap. "Home, James."

"Well done, gentlemen," Alexander Waverly said, glancing at the file before him. "Fortunate for UNCLE that Mr. Kuryakin managed to memorize the salient details of the file before you were captured."

Illya offered a quirky smile. "Thank you, sir." He shifted in his wheel chair and glanced at Napoleon.

"I believe that medical has ordered six weeks of medical leave, Mr. Kuryakin," Waverly said, tapping his pipe on the desk. "That was a rather serious wound from the looks of it."

"Yes sir," Illya said, folding his hands over his dark blue robe. "I doubt, sir, that six weeks will be necessary."

Napoleon frowned at his partner. "You'll take as long as necessary to heal," he said, ignoring his boss. "The last time you pushed you ended up back in medical. I don't want that to happen again."

Illya shrugged. "Is that an order?"

Waverly glanced up, a tiny grin crossing his face. "Yes, Mr. Kuryakin. That is an order. You are a valuable asset to UNCLE and I do not fancy having to replace you."

Napoleon chuckled and stood behind Illya's wheel chair. "If there's nothing else, sir …"

"Of course, Mr. Solo, of course. Return Mr. Kuryakin to medical and see to it that he follows orders. Good day, gentlemen."

Napoleon pushed the chair toward the elevators. "There is a bottle of 12-year-old Scotch for you, Napoleon, if you help me escape," Illya said, his voice soft.

The dark haired agent's laugh was deep. "Not a chance, tovarisch. Charlie would have my head on a platter and I don't fancy that."

"Tomorrow?" Illya asked, his face as innocent as a choirboy.

Napoleon rolled his eyes. "Not a chance. Charlie says at least another week."

Illya groaned.

Nurse Sindy met them at the elevator. "Solarium, gentlemen," she said, taking the wheel chair.

"Wives," Illya said, glancing at his partner.

"Got to be," Napoleon agreed, keeping pace with his partner. "Do me a favor and look as exhausted as possible. Maybe that'll slow them down."

Illya sighed and mussed his already unruly hair. He dropped his head and, Napoleon swore, willed his already pale complexion a couple of shades paler.

"How do you do that?"

"Zen," Illya grinned, his voice raspy and haggard.

Emerson surveyed her domain. Toys littered the living room cream Persian carpet. Anya's crayons spilled from the coffee table onto the floor as she created yet another masterpiece for Illya. Tasha was busy decorating the French doors that led to the roof garden with a fresh set of sticky fingerprints. The twins napped on a palate, bottles clutched protectively in their chubby hands.

_How the hell did I get here?_ she wondered, stepping over the twins to retrieve Tasha. _What was I thinking?_ Her communicator trilled.

"Cates," she answered, scooping up a handful of crayons and depositing them on the coffee table.

"Good morning, Emerson," Kristianna Blackwell said, the smile in her clipped British accent like a lifeline to Emerson.

"Kristianna," Emerson said, plopping on the couch with Tasha in hand. "It's so nice to hear an adult voice!"

"I'm sure that you're enjoying your time at home," Kristianna said, chuckling as she opened a file.

Emerson laughed. "Twins, I can manage. Four under four is something else!"

"How is Illya managing?"

"Until two weeks ago Illya was a lot of help, keeping the girl's busy. They loved the wheel chair and adored his physical therapists. Now, though, he's navigating with a cane and going to Medical for PT. That leaves me with the little darlings!"

"I have someone I would very much like you to meet. Someone who might be very helpful to you."

"I'll take anybody who hasn't been convicted of kidnapping," Emerson said, pausing to laud Anya's artwork. "Even then, I am willing to be flexible."

"May we come and visit?" Kristianna asked, smiling at the sound of Tasha's chatter. "We'll be there within the hour."

Emerson put on coffee and helped the girls pick up their toys. She left the twins to their slumber, unwilling to disturb what little peace and quiet she could find.

Marvin buzzed Kristianna and the mystery guest in and Anya answered the door. "Soyez bienvenus à notre maison, Mlle Blackstone," (Welcome to our home, Miss Blackstone) the little blonde said, offering a bright smile.

"Ah, Anya, c'est mardi, qui signifie que c'est le jour français!" Kristianna said, smiling at the child. "Comment sont vous, mon peu un?" (Ah, Anya, this is Tuesday, which means it is French day! How are you, my little one?)

"Très bien, le merci," Anya said, taking Kristianna's hand. "Vous avez apporté à un ami?" (Very well, thank you. You have brought a friend?)

Emerson appeared and laughed. "Sorry, Kristianna. We try a new language every day. You should be here on Chinese day. It's incredible!"

"Emerson, this is Claire Cavanaugh," Kristianna said, introducing the woman who stood slightly behind her.

"Satisfait de vous rencontrer, Mme. Kuryakin," Claire said, offering her hand.

"Soyez bienvenus au zoo, Mlle Cavanaugh," (Welcome to the zoo, Miss Cavanaugh,) Emerson said, shooing Anya away. "Seriously, let's speak English. Thinking in English and then translating to French gives me a headache. Too many vowels."

The three women made themselves comfortable in the kitchen and Emerson poured coffee into thick china mugs. Anya brought the cookie jar to the table and grinned at Emerson.

"One for you and one for your sister," Emerson said, opening the jar. She arched an eyebrow.

"Thank you," Anya said, dashing for the living room.

"You're welcome," Emerson said, laughing at the speedy child. "Make sure that your sister gets her cookie!"

"You seem to have things well in hand, Emerson," Kristianna said, smiling at her young friend.

"You, my dear, are the quintessential optimist," Emerson said, laughing and brushing her hand through her hair. "The girls adore the babies, except when they're pestering them or pinching them. Illya's bored out of his mind and PT wears him out. He's so in love with the kids that I'm almost jealous."

Claire laughed at that. "Could do some serious damage to his reputation."

Emerson grinned at Claire and glanced at Kristianna. "So, exactly where did you find this 'Mary Poppins'?

"I was Section 3 in Dublin," Claire said, reaching for her coffee. "Trust me; the reputation of your husband is world-wide."

"Section 3, uh, and you want to be a nanny? I know I'm missing something here." Emerson looked at Kristianna. "Care to elucidate?"

"Claire was Section 3 in Dublin. She was married to another Section 3 agent, Dennis Cavanaugh, who was killed in the line of duty. And, she's the mother of three and grandmother of five," Kristianna said, smiling at Emerson. "It seemed obvious to me that you need assistance. Mr. Waverly agreed and recommended Claire."

Emerson laughed. "I had no idea that Uncle Alex was in the nanny procurement business!"

"Neither did he," Claire said. "My children are grown and scattered to the winds along with my grandchildren. To be honest, Mrs. Kuryakin, I'm at loose ends. When I retired from UNCLE-Dublin five years ago, I did a little side work on occasion, sort of keeping my hand in, so to speak. Now, I'm footloose and fancy free. When Kristianna called I jumped at the offer."

"Call me Em, please." She gave the older woman a questioning glance. "You're game to take on an almost 4 year old, a 2 year old, infant twins, _and_ Illya Kuryakin?"

"I'd love to," Claire said, just as Tia set up a howl.

"That would be the little Russian Princess," Emerson said. "She's her father's daughter. No patience whatsoever!" Emerson rose and started toward the living room..

"Allow me," Claire said, heading toward the waling baby.

Emerson grinned at Kristianna. "What's this going to cost me?"

Kristianna grinned back. "Lunch with me at least once a week," Kristianna said. "Oh, and first place on the babysitting schedule."

Elias Mumphrey reviewed the documents before him and then glanced at the three young people seated across from him.

"You … all of you … are aware of the import of these documents?" he asked, readying a pen.

Dimitri looked at his brother and sister-in-law. "Da … yes … Mr. Mumphrey. I understand them."

Illya and Emerson nodded.

"You have no questions, then?" Mumphrey asked, opening the top folder and flipping through the single-spaced, typewritten document.

"None," Illya said.

"Mr. Kuryakin," Mumphrey said, his watery blue eyes fixing on the young, thin, dark-haired man, "you understand that by signing these documents you are giving full custody of your daughters to Dr. Kuryakin and the Reverend Cates? You understand that, should the situation warrant it, you are supporting a future petition to adopt Natasha and Anya. Further, you understand that once these documents are signed, notarized, and filed with the court your parental rights are essentially terminated?

Dimitri swallowed hard. "I understand, Mr. Mumphrey." He glanced at Illya who nodded. "I am posted to Riga. The new UNCLE installation there. I cannot take my children with me and would not. This is my wish."

Mumphrey frowned. In all his years as legal advisor to UNCLE, this was the most unusual request he had ever received. He was used to dealing with disability and death benefits, settling squabbles with local authorities, and generally getting agents out of jams. Arranging adoptions was a first, and he hoped, a last for his office.

"This document will terminate parental responsibilities," he said, handing the pen and the first of several files to Dimitri Kuryakin. "Please sign where indicated. Miss Haverford will notarize your signature."

Dimitri took a deep breath and scrawled his signature, handing the file to Miss Haverford. "This document states that you understand that, in the event of your death, your children will be free for adoption, and that the adoptive parents are Dr. Illya Nickovetch Kuryakin and the Reverend Emerson Myer Cates Kuryakin." Dimitri smiled and signed his name.

"Dr. Kuryakin and Reverend Cates," Mumphrey said, passing another file across his desk. "This is your official guardianship document regarding Anya Dimitrieva Kuryakin and Natasha Dimitrieva Kuryakin. Once this document is signed it will be filed with the courts." Mumphrey watched as Illya and Emerson signed. "Due to connections and influences at play on your behalf all will be finalized this afternoon."

Mumphrey collected the documents, and checked that they had been properly signed and endorsed. He smiled, offering his hand. "Perhaps I should offer my congratulations, Dr. Kuryakin and Rev. Cates. God speed, all of you."

On the way back to headquarters Illya and Emerson sat in silence, entertaining their own thoughts and concerns. Emerson recalled the last few months; Dimitri's assignment to Survival School, his request for transfer to Riga, the heated disagreements between Dimitri and Illya, and Illya's attempts at having Alexander circumvent Dimitri's assignment. It had been a hellish few months, ones that Emerson did not wish to relive.

Illya remembered his confrontation with Waverly.

Napoleon was in Europe and Asia for weeks, making appearances on behalf of Waverly and leaving Illya as acting CEA. The morning dispatches arrived and Illya, still restricted to office duty with the occasional courier assignment, plowed through them. He set aside assignment reports and international transfers preferring to work on in-house transfer requests first.

After an hour or so of reviewing and signing requests, he opened the last of the envelopes. Dimitri's name jumped from the page and Illya was out the door and on his way to the lab without thinking.

"Sheryl," he said to the lab tech in Dimitri's section, "is Mr. Kuryakin in?" He expended untold energy controlling his voice, face, and temper.

Sheryl glanced up, snapping her gum. "Ah, yeah, he's in R&D, Mr. K. Want me to buzz him for ya?"

"No, thank you, Sheryl," Illya said, turning sharply and nearly running down the hall. He rushed through the barely open door to R&D, startling the tech's working with his brother.

"If you will please leave us," he ordered. The tech's hurried out.

Dimitri's eyes met his. "Illyusha," he said, calmly, leaving his bench.

"What are you thinking?" Illya demanded, advancing on his brother. "Riga! Have you gone mad?"

"Illyusha, permit me to tell, yes?"

Illya stood like stone, his blue eyes hard. "Yes, Dima, tell me why you are doing this."

"I am graduate of Survival School. I am now agent in Section 2 … just like you." Dimitri couldn't keep the pride from his voice. "I wish to serve, Illyusha, like you serve. I want to help."

"You are of greater assistance to UNCLE in R&D … on assignment in New York … than you would ever be in Riga," Illya said, his voice cold.

"No, Illyusha, I am not," Dimitri said, moving to stand in front of his older brother. "In the Intelligencia I help people, yes? I help them escape the Soviet. I give them freedom." His large expressive hands encompassed the lab. "Here … here I make things. I blow things up. I make experiments and write reports." He shrugged his eyes downcast. "I make no difference."

Illya grabbed his shoulders and shook him, hard. "You make a huge difference, Dima! Your work here … your creation of miniaturized devices … saved my life and will save others! How can you say …" Illya stopped suddenly and released his brother. "This is why you requested Survival School." He ran his hands over his face. "Assignment to Section 2, New York was never your intent."

"No."

Illya crossed his arms and thrust his chin skyward. "I will not permit you to take Anya and Natasha to Riga. Mr. Waverly will not permit you to take them."

Dimitri smiled. "You are crazy! Why would I think to do such a thing?" The younger man paced. "You think that I would take them back after you save us?" He halted in front of his brother. "You are crazy Russian!"

"Explain yourself, Dima."

"You, Napasha, Em, Charlie, Mr. Waverly … you all work to make world a better place, yes? Yes. I, I work for that, too." He searched Illya's face. "I go to Riga … I am best for the job. My friends in the Intelligencia, they will help me. I work to make world better … for Anushka, Tasha, Nicky, and Tia. For all children!"

"You are insane," Illya said, his frown replaced by an icy glare. "You can make the world a better place right here. Your children need you, Dima. I need you." Illya fell silent. "We … all of us … have lost too much … too much … already."

Dimitri embraced his brother. "Illyusha, my beloved brother, you … understand me, yes. The world is crazy place. I want to make it better, safer. Riga is how I do this." He paused, his lips kissing Illya's temple. "My babies are safe. You will keep them safe, here."

Illya clung to his brother, refusing to give in to the threatening tears. "Please." Illya pulled away, taking his brother's face in his hands. "Please. Do not leave me now. Not now. Please."

Dimitri held him, rocking him like a lost child. "I do not leave you, Illyusha! I go to Riga. I work there … make world much better, yes? And, I come home." He smiled. "You do this, yes? I do this, too."

Illya controlled himself, pushing away from his brother. "I will not allow this assignment. I will not give my approval for your transfer."

Dimitri glared. "It is not yours to approve. Mr. Alexander Waverly, he approves."

Illya stormed out of the lab.

"Mr. Kuryakin, you will stand down!" Alexander Waverly said, his voice rising in anger. "Dimitri Kuryakin has completed Survival School, scoring quite well, I might add, and he has requested transfer to Riga. I have given my approval." The elderly man pushed his chair away from the revolving table. "This discussion is at an end."

"Sir …" Illya began, standing mere feet from his boss.

"You are dismissed, Mr. Kuryakin," Waverly said, collecting a handful of files and heading toward his private study.

"Sir, I will not sign his request for transfer."

Waverly stopped, squaring his shoulders, turning to face his young acting CEA. "Mr. Kuryakin, you are dismissed." Illya's eyes flashed with anger. "If you continue this diatribe I will suspend you. Do you understand?" The door to the private study hissed open and Waverly disappeared.

Anya and Tasha moved into the Penthouse apartment, overjoyed at their new room, filled with all of their toys, clothes, and their double bed.

"Do you think they have any idea what's going on?" Emerson asked Illya as they watched the two little girls bounce around the sunny former guest room.

"I have no idea what is going on," Illya said, frowning. "He is insane!"

She followed him into the study and poured two glasses of frozen vodka. "Nikala, this is what Dima wants. He needs to feel that he's making a difference and this is the only way he can imagine." She handed over his glass. "You know how frustrated you are when you aren't cleared for the field. You know how frustrated you are this very second. That's how Dima feels, has felt since he got off the plane."

Illya rested his head on the mantel. "He has responsibilities here, Em." His voice filled with confusion. "How can he risk leaving his own children orphaned? How can he leave them behind?"

Her anger flared. "The same way you leave your own children, Illya Nickovetch."

Claire Cavanaugh delivered Tasha and Anya to Emerson's office at noon, picnic basket in hand. "Mrs. Vincent has the twins, so I'm available to help out."

"God bless Mrs. Vincent," Emerson said, bending down to catch Tasha and Anya as they raced for a hug. "Tasha, Anushka, moi dragocennoye docheri! ('Tasha!, Anushka, my precious darlings!'). Off to the park for a picnic!"

The girls raced around like maniacs while Emerson and Cav spread an old quilt on the grass and set out the cold fried chicken, potato salad, and slaw. Cav poured glasses of milk and iced tea while Emerson herded the girls to the bathroom to wash up.

After lunch, Cav put Tasha in her pram and the two headed off down a path for a nice, long walk, shadowed by an UNCLE agent. Emerson pulled Anya onto her lap for a talk.

"Anushka," Emerson said, rocking the little girl gently, "do you understand why you're staying with Uncle Illyusha and me?"

"Daddy is going away," the soft voice responded.

"Daddy is going on business trip for Poppy, just like Uncle Illyusha and Uncle Napasha," Emerson said, brushing her fingers through the impossibly blonde hair. "Understand?"

Anya looked up, blue eyes clouded with worry. "Mama went away."

Emerson felt tears pricking at her eyes, but kept control. "Baby, Mama didn't go away, you know that. Mama got very sick. Mama died, my sweet. She was very sorry and very sad to leave you and Tasha behind, but she couldn't stay." She smiled. "Mama didn't go away."

"Daddy will come home?"

Emerson's eyes focused on a group of kids playing Frisbee and she struggled with her answer. "He will do everything he can to come home. Everything." She kissed Anya's cheek. "When you lived in Moscow … you were very little then, do you remember when you lived there?" Anya nodded, nibbling on a chocolate chip cookie and playing with the buttons on Emerson's blouse. "When you lived there your Daddy worked to help people. He worked very hard. Many, many people got to come to America because your Daddy helped them."

"He will help them?" Anya asked, her eyes clear with childlike understanding.

"Yes, baby. Daddy wants to help people come to America. He misses not being able to do that. So, he's going to a place called Riga and he'll be able to help."

"Where is Riga?" Anya was watching the Frisbee players.

"We'll put a map in your room and mark Riga so you can see it. Then we'll mark New York," Emerson said, feeling the small body relax in her arms. "Daddy will send us notes and maybe even call to talk to you and Tasha."

"I make pictures for him? Send him letters?"

"Yes, baby. We'll make lots of pictures and send lots of letters," Emerson held the little girl close. "And, we'll send Daddy lots of photographs of you and Tasha so he can see how big you're getting."

Anya yawned and rested her head against Emerson's shoulder. "I can take pictures, too?"

Emerson chuckled. "Absolutely. We'll shop for a camera just for you and I'll teach you how to use it." She rocked the now heavy body, listening to the deep, even breathing of the sleeping child.

Emerson kissed the fair forehead watching Cav push the sleeping Tasha toward her. _O Lord,_ she prayed silently, _we need help. Lots of help. And, now, if you please._

The dinner party was small, the food simple and filling, and the guests spent most of their evening playing with babies and little girls.

Alexander Waverly held Tasha who was busy playing with his gold pocket watch. April, Mark, and Napoleon played a fierce game of 'Old Maid' with Anya.

"Napasha, no cheating!" Charlie said, watching Antony crawl toward the card game and pull himself up on the coffee table. She rolled her eyes. "I see stitches in his future!"

"Anushka!" Dimitri said, watching his daughter try and peek at April's cards. "No cheating! You must play square!"

"Fair, Dima," Emerson said, laughing at his scrambled English. "She must play fair and square."

Dimitri grinned. "I said square, yes?"

Illya grinned, cradling Nicky who was eager to get down and interrupt the card game. "Do not worry, Dima. You will never understand American English!"

"Spoken like a true Russian," Lina Waverly said, cuddling Tia who acted as if she was never, ever held. "Sorry, a true Ukrainian!"

Nicky wriggled to the floor only to be intercepted by Emerson. "Nyet, little man," she said, scooping up the baby. He wailed. She sniffed him. "Time for a diaper change. Nobody will want to play with you, stinker!"

Illya smiled. "My turn, I think," he said, taking the baby from Emerson. "I'll come back for Tia. Charlie, does Antony need a change, too?"

Charlie grinned and handed over the squirming baby. "Dare I give my first born into the hands of a trained killer?""

"I'll keep an eye on him," Lina said, carrying Tia and following him to the nursery. "I would like to see your technique."

Emerson sat next to Dimitri, taking his hand. "They're wonderful kids," she said, smiling at her brother-in-law. "Even if Anushka tries to cheat."

"I will miss them, Em," Dimitri said, his eyes misting with tears.

"They will miss you, Dima," she said, squeezing his hand. "It's not too late to change your mind."

Dimitri shook his head and took a deep breath. "No, Em. I do this for them. For Nicky and Tia and Antony. Perhaps, maybe, this will make for more safety."

"Da, Dima," Emerson said, leaning her head on his shoulder. "I pray it will." She rested her hand on his heart. "I pray for you."

He kissed her hand and nuzzled her hair. "I am fine, Em. I do not worry."

"Damn Russians," she said, "always and forever 'fine'!"

The card game ended with Anya triumphant and Cav appeared. "Bath time, ladies," she said, taking a nodding Tasha from Mr. Waverly and pointing Anya toward the hallway. "Let's get you ready for bed and then you can come say goodnight."

"Wonder what's keeping Lina and Illya? Changing three stinky babies can't take that long!" Charlie said, watching April collect cards and Napoleon and Mark stand and stretch.

"I shall reconnoiter," April offered, following Cav down the hall.

Emerson and Charlie followed. "Looks like a conspiracy to me," Emerson chuckled, listening to the chortles, giggles, and splashing coming from the nursery. "Ah, bath time with the terrible troika on top of diaper changing! Nikala will want a citation for this!"

Charlie pushed open the nursery bathroom door and grinned. "Drowned rats. That'll teach April not to wear her fancy dresses around this bunch!"

Soon enough April, Lina, and Illya appeared, quite damp from their labors, laughing together as they shared towels.

"I've been dunked by THRUSH and been drier," April said, mopping her arms. "You should have warned me!"

"I did," Illya said, allowing April to ruffle his hair with the towel. "They are like fish!"

"Nothing like a sweet, freshly bathed baby," Lina said. "April and I rocked them to sleep, Em. Hope you don't mind. Nicky and Antony in one crib, Tia in the other."

"Not at all," Emerson said, pulling Illya onto the couch. "The poor little dears get so little attention as it is."

Illya took drink orders and everyone settled in. April perched on the arm of Mark's chair, his arm loosely draped around her. Charlie sat on the couch and leaned into Napoleon's embrace. Alexander and Lina held hands at the opposite end. Dimitri and Illya sat next to each other while Emerson sat on the floor and leaned against Illya's legs. The group was quiet for a moment.

"Dima," Lina said her voice soft, "we promise you that we … all of us … will take good care of Tasha and Anushka while you are away."

Dimitri smiled. "They call you GiGi and Mr. Waverly, Poppy," he sipped his vodka. "And, they call me 'Daddy'!"

"Little American's in the making, Dima," Charlie said, watching the wonder on his face.

"They have changed so much, my babies," he said, brushing a tear from his cheek. "You … all of you … are so kind to them. To me."

Emerson reached up and took his hand. "We love you, Dima." She smiled at him. "We love you very much."

"Daddy! Tuck us in, please?" Anya yelled as she raced for his lap. Tasha was right behind her.

Dimitri held them close, kissing their damp hair and their glowing faces. "Da, Papa will tuck you in." He scooped them up carried them down the hall. Emerson followed, stopping to collect two small blankets.

Illya noted the look of curiosity on April's face. "Ah, blankets," he said, smiling at the retreating form of his wife. "She asked Dima to sleep with the blankets this last week and she spritzed them with his shaving lotion. It will help the girls remember him."

Charlie nodded. "She's trying to make this run as smoothly as possible. There's a map on their wall with Riga and New York connected by a red thread. A framed picture of Sonya and Dima is on the nightstand and a collage of pictures of the three of them on the back of the door."

Mark grinned. "Anushka is becoming quite the shutterbug. She took a whole roll of film tonight."

"That was an excellent idea, Emie. Alexander, she can send her pictures to Dima via courier and he can send notes to them, right?" Lina asked, patting his hand.

"Of course," Alexander Waverly said, smiling at the idea of sending such important information via official channels. He glanced at his watch wiping Tasha's smudged fingerprints with his handkerchief. "Shall we depart, my dear? It is rather late and I have work for these young people in the morning."

Emerson and Illya saw their guests out. April and Mark soon followed. Napoleon retrieved Antony from the nursery.

Charlie laughed at the sight of the CEA carrying the sleeping baby and juggling the diaper bag. "We've got to get an early start … we've so far to travel!" She kissed Illya and Emerson at the door. "If you need me, call."

Illya and Emerson collected stray toys and glasses meeting in the kitchen. He wrapped his arms around her, kissing her neck. "Thank you."

She giggled. "For what?"

He turned her around, his blue eyes serious. "For … Tasha and Anushka … for Dima … for Nicky and Tia … for me." She wrapped her arms around him.

"I'm selfish, moj vozl'ublennyj," (beloved) she said, kissing his tears. "I will do anything in my power to make you happy. Anything." She tightened her embrace. "If this is all it takes, then I haven't even worked up a sweat."

They stood, holding each other for a long time, drawing strength from each other.

"Perhaps we should check on Dima," Illya murmured, pressing his lips to her neck.

Hand-in-hand, they walked down the hallway, stopping to check the nursery. The babies slept soundly. Illya crept in and tugged Nicky's blanket over his little behind.

They found Dimitri asleep in the middle of the double bed, Anya's head resting on one shoulder and Tasha tucked into the curve of his arm.

Illya sighed and closed the door. "We are insane," he said, glancing at Emerson. "You are right, moj vozl'ublennyj," (beloved), we leave our children behind."

She led him down the hall and poured two glasses of vodka. Opening the French doors to the roof garden, she invited him to join her.

"Insanity. Something we all share. Napoleon and Charlie, April and Mark, Lina and Alexander, Dima …" she said, taking in the incredible view of the park and Manhattan. "We all are."

"I am sorry, Em," he said, lacing his arm around her waist.

She chuckled. "No you're not, Nikala. You're no sorrier than I am. You love your job and I love mine." She leaned against him and sighed. "And, we do make a difference."

Turning in his arms she smiled at his confused expression. "The minute that changes for me … or for you … then we make different choices. Until then …"

His lips found hers and the drinks were forgotten. "Moj vozl'ublennyj." (My beloved.)

"Navsegda." (forever), she whispered.

More to come …


End file.
